


midway

by vintaged



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: M/M, just an excuse to write a love confession bc i have! no chill!, tldr: zeb and kal talk about their Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintaged/pseuds/vintaged
Summary: A confession. Of sorts.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 30
Kudos: 190





	midway

**Author's Note:**

> love + thanks today, as always, to [whip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplashcrash/pseuds/whiplashcrash) and [elle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleTchj/pseuds/elleTchj) for gassing me up literally every day no matter what, and patiently explaining everything from x-wings to assassin's creed.
> 
> UPDATE: please check out elle's [beautiful art](https://twitter.com/elleTchi/status/1290120719339270144) for this piece!

When you tell him that you love him, he doesn’t hear you at first. He’s too busy, as usual, peering into the torn interior of the the x-wing’s inboard aileron. The airfoil isn’t crushed, so much as lopsided now; when you’d entered the hangar, it hadn’t even been the first issue to catch your eye. The hood has been scratched, and there’s a heavy dent in the top of one of the s-foils. 

They don’t normally call for a decoding specialist to check on such cosmetic damage, as you’ve pointed out, but Kallus is quick to respond with an answer that’s only ever-so-slightly condescending. It’s what’s underneath the metal that has the supervisor worried, Garazeb, not the _dent_ . He explains that it’s something about a micro-tracker, a spar inhibitor -you’re not sure, and to be frank you don’t really care. This is Kal’s specialty, not yours. And right now his _specialty_ has only resulted in an unnecessary promotion from desk-duty idiot to “Desk-Duty-Idiot-in-Charge.”

“Power wrench,” Kallus says, and you hand it to him. He doesn’t say thank you.

_(When you tell him that you love him, you’re knocking out an Imperial guard, so technically you suppose it’s not “telling.” And technically he’s not listening. It was Kal’s fault, anyway, for not checking that the doors were sealed before he began tapping into the destroyer’s mainframe with whatever codes still worked. You just did your job, protecting your assigned Rebel Agent, by rushing into the control room after him and jamming the butt of your bo-rifle into the back of the trooper’s head. A low groan escapes their helmet. Perfect shot; they drop instantly, and Kallus whips around at the crack of metal just in time to see the trooper crumple to the floor, blaster skittering along the floor to rest at his feet._

_“Shit,” Kallus gasps, his gaze snapping from you to the fallen trooper, up to you again. He looks torn between humor and terror, can’t decide which direction to take. Refuses to make a decision._

_“Shit,” you say back, and you’re almost laughing_.)

It’s at times like these that Kallus reminds you of a kit; so sure of himself and yet so utterly unsteady. He’s excited to be working on something he can control, something other than a scrapped mouse droid. Right now, by all accounts, is not the best time to tell him anything other than “yes,” or “no,” or “ _alright_ , Kallus.” This isn’t the right time, or the right place, choking on dust in a half-empty hangar that reeks of fuel. And you really hate repeating yourself.

All this to say: you’re tired of waiting. You’ve never been known for your patience, anyways.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, and Kallus looks up, and you say it again.

This time when you tell him that you love him, and he _finally hears you_ , he doesn’t smile with his lips so much as the edges of his mouth; doesn’t laugh so much as inhale sharply, almost gasp. His eyes flick from your eyes to your ears, because he thinks you might be joking. He’s looking for the inadvertant wiggle that would give the ruse away; but you’re as serious as you’ve ever been. As sure as you could be about this kind of confession. You’re not sure of a lot of things, but _this_ -this you know with every fiber of your being. The words have been there for so long now; and now, you’ve finally given them weight.

“I’m not joking,” you say, just to be clear. Kallus is silent.

In all honesty you thought you’d be more nervous, but there’s no hot prick of agitation in your ribs. It’s an interesting sensation, this comfort. That however this exchange goes, whatever Kal says when he’s done gaping, you are _sure_ of him. The skirmishes that defined his touch feel so far away, not just years but lifetimes ago now. The Kal staring up at you, dry-lipped and inscrutable.... he’s someone else. Maybe he was always there, hidden beneath that hideous Imperial armor; or maybe he’s been built up from scratch, out of discarded datapads and puns and a sleep schedule that would horrify any sane adult. You aren’t sure, don’t really care. Like you told him, once: it’s in the past now. 

_(When you tell him that you love him, you don’t; he stops you halfway. He stiffens under your hands. It’s almost unfair, the way Kallus has settled into your lap so comfortably, tangled his fingers into your beard; stops mid grind, leans away from you. His cheeks are flush with arousal, eyes blown in the low light of the barracks. He’s caught off guard, and you are too. It’s not like you were planning to say anything. With him, sincerity comes quickly, disappears before it’s solidified into anything you’d have to actually hold. Usually you replace the confession with his name, a groan, a kiss; some sound to let him know you’re_ here _, forever, and he is too._

_“Zeb,” he murmurs. Brings one hand down to your lips and presses them closed. His fingertips are worn and sandpapered against your skin. “Don’t.”)_

Kallus is still staring at you. His mouth has closed, finally, but at some point in the last few moments a frown has crinkled the freckled skin of his forehead.

“Are you well, Zeb?” He asks, slowly. There’s a whine at the edge of his voice that catches on your name. Holds on tight, until the last syllable has passed on to you.

“I’m fine,” you say. And you’re a little exasperated, because you don’t spend time mincing words -certainly not ones that could bring a lesser man to his knees. “I told you, I love you. And I think you love me too.”

Kallus’ eyes widen. That blasted frown presses upwards, and now he looks… shocked? Confused?

No.

_Hopeful._

You told yourself you were going to be mature about this, but the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth pretty much throws that plan out the window. You lean onto the ship’s wing and cross your arms, resting your weight on the warm metal of the x-wing’s hood. _Stars,_ but this is much more enjoyable than you’d imagined.

Of course, in your imagination, Kallus would have spoken by this point.

He inhales sharply again, but either he can or _won’t_ move away; gloved fingers dance around the hilt of the small yellow wrench in his hand, squeezing and releasing. His eyes skate over yours, almost frantically. He seems simultaneously completely wrecked and made whole, and the realization makes your heart catch in your throat.

“You _do_ ,” you say, exhaling. To your surprise, your breath is shaky. “You _love_ me, Kallus.”

And Kal, stoic to a fault, pauses one more time before he nods, just a bit. Almost imperceptibly.

“I do.”

 _I do_. The words explode in your head like an ion blaster, sudden and blinding and _deafening_ ; they echo around your brain, louder and louder until all you can hear is _I do_ _I do I do I do._

You decide they’re officially the best words you’ve ever heard in your karking life. In fact, they’re the only words you’ve ever wanted to hear, ever waited for. And Kallus is looking at you with an expression that undoes you, so sure and soft and alive and _oh karabast_ , he’s leaning in-

When he kisses you, you taste the hint of a smile.

( _He tells you that he loves you, and everything makes sense.)_


End file.
